A Thousand Oceans
by Petronille
Summary: Before there was a Wendy, there was an Aimee. Aimee Dubucq de Rivery was on her way home to Martinique when a storm blows her ship into a strange new sea. She never expected to find herself on an uncharted island ruled by a tyrannical flying boy, and she certainly never expected to find herself falling in love with a pirate by the name of Captain James Hook. First in a series.
1. Prelude

**Disclaimer: I don't own J. M. Barrie's ****_Peter Pan. _****Aimee Dubucq de Rivery was a real person, though there's much debate concerning what really might have happened to her and whether or not the legend of her being Nakshedil, Valide Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, are true. The Nakshedil legend will not be mentioned in this story, but if you're interested in it, there is a lot of information out there about it.**

A Thousand Oceans

Prelude

_Hook's Monologue._

Once upon a time there was a young Creole girl in a white muslin dress with a blue sash.

The boy brought her here.

He was never supposed to bring her, of course, not at first, for there was another Creole girl he had wished to bring, but the ship taking her from Martinique to France had been too fast and the winds had blown against him, and he'd had to return to the Neverland. The winds had blown against him, and had blown strong into the sails of that little French ship, for this Creole girl had a destiny to fulfill, to play out the roles that the cards had spelled out for her, the roles of _Wife, Mother, Empress_.

The boy settled for the other one—and had her brought her in a most marvelous way; I would almost say that the scheme had been ingenious had it not been for other things at work—but unlike the other girls he had brought, she would have none of his games. She was haughty, and spoiled, and conscious of her place in the world, and she was also clever enough to escape from the boy's clutches and throw herself at my feet begging for help when we came upon her in the forest. And Good Form dictated that I could not refuse her pleas for help, even if she was French. And so I took her aboard my ship, thinking that she would be useful as a pawn in the eternal game I played with the boy.

The boy cared nothing for her. From the air, he pulled faces at her and declared that he would never bring a lady to Neverland again. She quickly launched into a bunch of insults in French, insults that I understood but that the boy did not. At that point, I decided that the exchange must end, and I had my men roll out Long Tom and chase boy away with some grapeshot.

The little mademoiselle was rather frightened, but I was soon able to bring her round, and little by little I learned about her. Her name was Aimee Dubucq de Rivery, and she had been on her way from France to Martinique when a storm had overtaken their ship and they had found themselves in the Neverland seas. And from her I learned of how time had passed, and that most of the world had, indeed, forgotten the name of Hook.

I cannot tell you how much time she spent with us—I believe it was the length of a summer—but she never forgot her desire to return home. Yet the crew—who had at first believed it to be ill luck to have her aboard—eventually grew to tolerate her presence aboard the ship.

And I? I will say that I was pleased, at first, to have such company as hers, for her little airs and graces were quite beguiling, and she was a lovely, brilliant creature. Something grew around my heart during that time she spent with me, as ivy twines its way around an ancient oak tree and sometimes pierces through the thick bark. She made me feel more alive than I had been in almost a century. But I knew—selfish man though I am—that she would not be able to spend eternity with us, for I would eventually meet my death at the hands of Peter Pan and that accursed crocodile, and it was very clear what her fate would be if any of my crew remained.

And so I let her go, content that she would remember me, and that if she wished, she would allow me to seek her out, or that somehow, she might return to me.

But she has not come to me. She has not sent word to me that I might leave this hellish isle and seek her out.

She had been a sweet distraction.

And as before, as always, Hook—poor, unhappy Hook—is alone and unloved, as he always shall be.

* * *

_Versailles.  
July, 1789._

She thought of him often, remembered the things he had spoken of, remembered the way he had laughed and the notes of melancholy in his voice. It was hard not to recite the stories he had told her in her head as she worked on her embroidery or practiced the harp or the pianoforte.

When she had told her aunt and her uncles about her ordeal at the hands of the pirates, her aunt had gasped, pressing a scented handkerchief to her mouth, and her uncles had exchanged worried glances and had left it to her aunt to call a midwife. After a rather uncomfortable examination, it had been determined that she was still virgo intacta and that the captain had been the gentleman she had described. The disappearance at sea had become a slightly inconvenient story to tell, a circumstance that made the other women whisper to each other unfurled fans when she entered the salons and ballrooms of Fort-du-France's great houses.

Perhaps it would be best to take her back to France, Roland Dubucq de Sainte-Preuve remarked grudgingly as he sat in the salon of the Dubucq townhouse in Fort-du-France. "Rose could always take the girl under her wing, couldn't she?"

And that seemed to be the best option, for Aimee to return to France with her Uncle Roland and be guided by her cousin's elegant hand. Things were different in France now; they weren't as formal. She would be able to find a husband there. The dowry was a substantial one, no doubt something that would attract some ambitious young man looking for a wife. And the morals of the court at Versailles certainly had not been the morals of the Creoles in Martinique.

Yet despite the handsome, available young men about her, despite all of the wonderful, terrible, exciting changes occurring in France and the feeling of exhilaration that thrummed throughout her veins when she heard the anthems the revolutionaries sang, she felt that there was something missing.

She put aside her sewing at stared down at the street below. It was a quite day, a normal day, she supposed, though everyone went through their routines as though nothing had happened. The only difference was the omnipresent cockade, scarf, or even ribbons with the new French tricolor on it. She even had seen the cockade decorating the shoes of a young aristocratic woman, who had laughed and blown kisses to the young men in the parade as it had progressed down the street.

She wondered what _he_ might think of all this, of the tense calm before a great storm, of this cusp between the past and the future, of this sort of holding of one's breath before reaching the point of no return.

She couldn't help but think of _him_ at the most inopportune moments, such as when her maid was helping her to dress or during conversations at dinner. How might he like the color of and fit of her dress or the style of her hair or the new scent she wore, or what he might think of this wine or the rather silly way that upstart bourgeois was carrying himself?

"You have only to think of me whilst wearing it and I will come to you," he had said to her when he had presented her with the diamond cluster ring through which he had threaded a gold chain.

"And who has made a ring with such powers?" she had asked him, laughing.

"'Twas a gift from the Faerie Queen herself," he told Aimee. "And I pass it on to you."

She had gently plucked the gold chain from where it hung on the hook he wore in place of his right hand. "It's very beautiful," she had said. "But why pass it on to me?"

"I've not met anyone who would suit it so." He had taken the chain from her with his good hand and has slipped it over her head. "Or perhaps it suits you?"

"You are silly," she had said, a slow smile spreading across her face. He chuckled in amusement.

"It has been a very long since a young woman has told me that I am silly," he admitted, the sadness showing in his eyes again. "But I can assure you, Mademoiselle, that there is nothing silly about the deeper sentiments of a man's heart."

He had been telling her then that he loved her, and she, vain, naive little thing she had been, had chosen to close her eyes to it and pretend that it was meant for someone else, someone who had come and gone long before she had been brought to the Neverland.

"You will think of me from time to time, I hope?" he had continued, his eyes averting from hers to stare out at the sea before them.

"Of course I will think of you from time to time," she replied, stepping closer to his side,. She fiddled with the the gold chain around her neck and took the ring into her hands, admiring how the rose-cut diamonds glittered in the lantern light. "I'll look at it and remember the Neverland…and you. Always you, the gentleman who saved me from being an unwilling mother to a pack of little savage boys." She glanced up at him, the corners of her lips turning upward.

"And you would remember the stories I have told you, and the rules of Good Form?" His tone had a lightness to it as he took a puff from his specially made cigar holder.

"Of course I would, Captain! Mon dieu, you talk as though I might never see you again after I return to France!" She shook herh head and his forget-me-not blue eyes met hers. She watched as he exhaled a cloud of smoke before he began to speak.

"Dearest Aimee," he said, "what would you do if you never saw me again?"

She turned away from him, keeping her eyes on the endless sea that stretched out before the ship. "I would be grief-stricken. My heart would be heavy with it." She eyed him again. "Surely you know what mal du coeur is?"

"Mayhap I do. But pray tell me, Mademoiselle Aimee." He gestured for her to continue with his hook.

"I should be heartsick"

"And if you heard of my death?"

"Why, Captain—how morbid you are! There is a difference between never seeing you again and hearing news of your death! If I knew you were living—somewhere—I would be quite content!"

"But if you learned of my death—would you still be heartsick?" Would you suffer from mal du coeur?"

"Oh, no, Captain!" Aimee exclaimed. ""I would no be heartsick! My heart would break…and I would weep for you and for how lovely things might have been…""

"How lovely things might have been?" he echoed gently, inclining his head questioningly.

She gasped at what she had just said, pressing her fingers to her lips. Yes, things could be lovely, buy there was still her desire to return to her family in France and the danger that Peter Pan still represented. "How lovely they might have been had we met in France," she amended.

"My charming girl, I can assure you that has we not come to be on this accursed isle, we would never have met!" He motioned to Smee to bring them some more wine.

"But still," she said, "I would think that the world is better with you in it. Even if I did never see you again."

"You strike true, my dear," Hook said, grinning, his perfect white teeth shining in the lantern light. "Touche."

And when Smee brought the two crystal cut glasses and the decanter full of wine, James Hook waved him away, pouring the glasses himself. He handed ome to Aimee and before either one of them could drink, he toasted her. "A votre sante, Mademoiselle," he said. "May I never cause you any mal du coeur or bring tears to those lovely eyes of yours!"

This had taken her aback, and she had gulped a bit much of the wine to try and regain her composure.

"You are too kind, Captain," was all she had been able to say.

And since her return to France, she had not been able to cease thinking of him. She still felt the warm press of her lips against hers before she had left him. She hadn't wanted that moment to end, though her beloved pixie Minuette had tugged at her hair and reminded her that they must leave before the _Jolly Roger _sailed into the Neverland Sea.

Now, as she stared woefully down at the tiny, perfect stitches of her embroidery, she wondered where he was and what he might be doing. Where in the Faerie Seas had he sailed? What treasures had he been able to seize and add to his hoard?

She set aside her embroidery at the frenzied knocking at the door. Roland Dubucq de Sainte-Preuve's voice echoed downstairs as he ordered the footman to allow the guest into his study.

The guests's voice was quiet, and Uncle Roland followed suit and lowered his voice. Aimee tried to decipher what they were saying, but she was unable to make sense of their mumbling.

And the tap on the window was what interrupted her eavesdropping.

She rose and went to the window to see who—or what—had been knocking on it.

It was Minuette, whose jewel-like wings fluttered frantically as she waited for Aimee to open the window. As soon as the window was open, Minuette streaked into Aimee's bedroom, her lapis blue light shining as brightly as ever.

"Minuette!" Aimee exclaimed, sitting down on the sofa beside th4e table where Minuette had landed to catch her breath. "What is it? Why have you come all the way from Neverland?"

Minuette turned her tiny face up to Aimee, dashing sparkling tears from her eyes.

"Aimee!" she wailed. "Oh! Aimee!" And she burst into tinkling sobs.

Aimee leaned closer to the pixie. "What happened, Minuette?"

Minuette's sobs subsided, and she rose and placed her little hands on Aimee's forearm. "Captain Hook—he is dead! He fought a final battle with Peter Pan and…oh, Aimee!"|

Aimee's brow crumpled. "What?" she said, her heart leaping to her throat. "What do you mean, he's dead?"

"He's dead. He met his end in the mouth of the crocodile. He died bravely…"

Aimee's lips began to tremble. "No…"

"He whispered your name as he fell…"

The whisper…The dream…

_Aimee._

"No."

"It's true, Aimee."

"_No!"_ Aimee felt the hot tears rolling down her cheeks and something in her chest seemed to crumble and break. Was this her heart? Was this _mal du coeur_? Was this how it felt when a heart broke?

Her sobs resounded throughout the house, and her maid came to see what distressed her so. But Aimee could not say what it was, for her grief left her unable to form the words.

* * *

_Neverland._

The crocodile lay in her lair, her long-held hunger slaked. The clock had now begun to run down, the for which it had ticked having been taken, and soon the creature would be able to stalk its prey with the stealth and secrecy that had once been her allies.

The crocodile's stomach roiled, and she came out of her stupor and got to her feet. She howled in agony as something cut through her belly. The iron hook pierced through the soft flesh of her belly, and James Hook emerged from the dying beast, covered in blood and gore.

He buried his hook into the creature's throat, killing her once and for all, and he staggered from the lair into the cold night.

The moon was at a slim crescent, though he could not tell if it was waxing or waning, so there was no way to determine how much time had passed. As he followed its light to a nearby stream, he noted that the island was strangely silent. The Lost Boys and their accursed leader were still gone.

But there was more to it. He swore that he had been dead, that the crocodile had begun to digest him,. Yet was he bent to stare at his reflection, he noticed that his skin bore no marks from the beast's teeth or the caustic acid of her stomach. It was almost as though he had lain within the creature, asleep, until he had awakened and clawed his way out. It was an odd sort of rebirth, he thought offhandedly as he splashed water on his face once more.

He should be dead. He knew that he should be bones moldering in that horrible creature's gut. But something else had happened.

It was almost was though fate had stepped in and interceded on his behalf.

Fate.

No, not fate.

Aimee.

She must have somehow heard of his death. And she had wept tears for him.

He felt an odd sense of victory,. The Faerie Queen's countercurse had worked, and he was free…of the curse of Neverland, at least. But never mind that.

He felt a strange sort of lightness in his heart. She had wept for him, and she had brought him back to life.

And he laughed.

For what would the world be without Captain James Hook?


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own J. M Barrie's ****_Peter Pan,_**** but all original characters are mine. Aimee Dubucq de Rivery, as discussed in the previous chapter, was a real person, and supposedly a cousin of Empress Josephine's.**

Author's Note: I picture Jason Isaacs from P. J. Hogan's 2003 film of **_Peter Pan _****as Captain Hook and Kirsten Dunst in the 2006 film ****_Marie Antoinette _****as Aimee.**

A Thousand Oceans

Chapter One

_Nantes.  
May, 1788._

Martinique. Such an odd name, such an exotic name but such a comfortable, familiar name for an island.

Whenever Aimee Dubucq de Rivery thought of Martinique, she thought of sugarcane. When she had been a child, her nurse would often break off a piece of sugarcane and give it to her so that she could suck on it until Aunt Anne discovered and scolded the nurse not to give her any more sugarcane. "Her teeth will rot out of her head before she's ten!" Aunt Anne had railed.

Of course Amalie had been sold after that, and there had been Emma Silver, the woman who would shape Aimee's imagination after Amalie had gone. Emma followed all of Aunt Anne's orders, just as Emma's husband followed all of Uncle Edouard's orders. Jeannot Silver, Aimee knew, was a most capable, man, despite the loss of one leg. "In battle with the Anglais," Emma had hissed into Aimee's ear as they watched Jeannot at work in the house he shared with Emma on the grounds of the Dubucq plantation at Trois-Islets. "You ought to ask him some time, petite. He will tell you about all of it."

"Oh, no, I shan't!" Aimee had exclaimed. "It wouldn't be polite!"

Emma smiled, surreptitiously offering her a piece of sugarcane. "Jeannot is willing to tell—always, petite! Always for you!" And she had laughed as Aimee had taken the sugarcane, savoring it, not wanting it to go away so quickly, but quickly enough so that her aunt wouldn't know of it.

The Silvers, Aimee had heard, had come from England. Jeannot, a former privateer who had lost his leg in service to the English king, and his freedwoman wife Emma. Silver was more than happy to act as Uncle Edouard's overseer and as a sort of quartermaster. Monsieur Silver was quite intimidating, in Aimee's childish eyes, with his strange gait and his observant manner. Of course her cousins Catherine and Manette had been frightened of him—and of Emma Silver as well—but Yeyette had not been. Once she wandered into the bungalow the Silvers shared and fed Jeannot's parrot, Captain Flint, some melon.

"You used to fight for the Anglais, didn't you?" she said bravely to Silver.

"And what does it matter to you, mam'selle?" the old Englishman demanded. Yeyette inclined her dark heads, her hazel eyes narrowing.

"My papa says you know of a treasure island, and that you tricked the Anglais into taking you to it," she continued quietly.

Silver's eyes glittered, and he laughed as his parrot let out a squawk of, "Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!"

"Aye, I did trick the English, but 't'ain't a matter now. I'm an honest man, and I've no intentions of going astray, Life at sea can be dangerous. Not a life for an old man like me or a fine young lady like yourself."

Yeyette sighed. "I suppose it would be a difficult life."

"Difficult, but full of rewards," Emma said. "Come, why don't we see if Madame has any tea? There ought to be some very special treats at the house for you girls!"

Emma Silver, Aimee reflected, sitting down on the stool in front of her mirror as her maid did her hair, knew how to keep secrets, even better than her husband did. For it was Emma Silver who had accompanied Yeyette and Aimee and Yeyette's slave Mimi to see Euphemie David, while Yeyette's sisters had refused. They had been frightened of Euphenmie David, and they had had good sense! The words of Aimee's reading still echoed throughout her head from time to time, but now she would ignore it.

"I think your hair looks splendid!" Croisine pronounced, stepping back to let Aimee admire the work she had done. It had been curled and powdered and pinned into the latest style. "It shines so prettily in the candlelight!"

Perhaps these were the words of flattery from a lady's maid or simply a pronunciation of pride over her work, yet Aimee Dubucq de Rivery did not speculate further on it. She was young, she was beautiful, and she was heiress to one of the largest sugarcanw fortunes in Martinique. Ever since her departure from the Convent des Dames de la Visitation, where she had spent her teenage years beding educated and polished into a fine French lady, she had dreamed of whather fortune would secure for her: a marriage to a titled nobleman, a comte, a marquis, or even a duc. She would be presented to the queen at Versailles, and she was assured that, since everything colonial and simple was loved by the queen, she could possibly find herself in Marie Antoinette's inner circle

It had been a lovelyu dream.

Until her Uncle Edouard had decided tghart it would be best for her to return to Martinique, what with all the rumblings of change—and possibly revolution—that reverberated throughout the lower classes and had now made its way through the middle classes and as high as some members of the nobility. And her Uncle Roland, who had assumed guardianship over her while she had been attending convent school in France, had agreed.

Aime frowned, despite the rouge on her cheeks that made her face seem brighter when she smiled. It wasn't fair, she thought contemptuously. Yes, there might be rumblings of revolution in France, but it didn't mean the revolution was coming. The king, now doubt, was a reasonable man, and he would be able to meet the demands of the discontented and all would be well. Why, just look at England! And Aimee would still be able to secure her nobleman, and all would be well.

"I sill don't understand," Aimee had told her uncle that afternoon. "Why must I return to Martinique? All the ladies there a so gloomy!"

"Don't pout, Aimee, it's quite childish," Uncle Roland said hgravely, ignoring her expression. "Your Uncle Edouard has made it quite clear that a marriage can be arranged for you in Martinique."

"But I don't want to marry a gentleman in Martinique!" Aimee protested, tossing aside her embroidery. "Aunt Anne said I would marry a nobleman and be presented to the queen. She promised…"

"Your aunt's promises mean nothing!" Uncle Roland retorted. "Things are changing, and your Uncle Edouard and I have decided that you are to return to Martinique. There is no point in arguing about it."

"But couldn't I stay with Yeyette? Couldn't she help me to find a husband?"

"My dear girl, your cousin is hardly the person who would be best able to help arrange a marriage for you, And her aunt is as much of a fool. Back to Martinique you will go, and your Uncle Edouard and Aunt Anne will arrange a marriage for you there."

Aimee had clenched her fists to keep them from trembling. "But I want to be a duchesse or a marquise or a comtesse! Martinique is so—so boring!"

"It is better to be safe and bored and diverted and in danger."

Aime still could not agree with that, not even as she went downstairs to act as hostess for the dinner her uncle was giving for his friends. It was a rather humdrum affair, mostly old noblemen and businessmen talking of the state of the market for whatever it was they traded in, about the state of the government, about the king's despair over the deaths of two of his four children, and whether or not he would emerge from hsi funk.

"He will emerge from it, of course," Uncle Roland said. "He must. He is the king."

Aimee frowned. What did it matter? she thought as she picked at her dinner. She would be going home to Martinique, anyhow, and none of it would concern her.

"If you'll excuse me," Aimee said once they had finished their dinner, "I'm very tired. I ought to retire."

Uncle Roland glanced up at her, momentarily halting the conversation in which he had been so deeply involved. "Of course, my dear," he said. "Good night."

The other guests bid her good night and as soon as she had left the dining room, their conversation resumed.

It was listening to those conversations Uncle Roland held with his business partners and other guests that showed Aimee trhe ways of the world and the ruthlessness with which men determined the fates of those who were beholden to them. Long after she was supposed to have retired, she would sneak out of her bedroom and crouch in the corner of the second-floor hallway. Her uncle's study was right below, on the first floor, and mant times the door was indiscreetly left open, and that was when she would hear things. Terrible things and not so terrible things, like gossip about the most prominent families, news from court, business talk.

It was here that she has learned about the sordid business concerning Yeyette and her husband, Alexandre de Beauharnais. There had been whispers at the convent school having been a model for the Vicomte de Valmont in Les Liaisons Dangereuses, and there was much reason to believe that it was the truth. No matter how much some might protest, there was an element of truth to it. And no matter how much families tried to shield their daughters from such scurrilous gossip, there were always ways of finding out. And Aimee had been able to confirm that there was some truth to the rumors.

She stopped in her tracks when she heard the conversation change to talk of a dowry…when it came to her, and how much sugarcane, coffee, and indigo La Trinite produced each year.

"It produces enough so that my brother and his wife might live comfortably while raising our orphaned niece. They've been able to send her to one of the best convent schools in France instead of one of those convents run by Ursuline nuns that only teaches girls to be good little Creole wives." She heard her uncle chuckle. "Of course, that is only if one has no grand ambitions and wishes to remain in the Caribbean with the hurricanes and the mosquitoes for the rest of his days."

Aimee cringed at this.

"But then," her uncle continued, "my brother does wish to remain in Martinique for the rest of his days. He came back to France a few years ago and complained that he couldn't abide the cold. That was when he brought Aimee to France, and he hasn't been back since."

"I imagine it's been a burden, having her about on holidays when you have more important things to worry about," another guest remarked.

"My niece isn't a burden—not much of one anyhow," Roland replied. "She's a quiet little thing, and spends most of her time practicing the harpsichord or harp or reading the classics or embroidering, or whatever it is young ladies do."

Not much of a burden…

"She has that maid of her to keep her company and to indulge her whims, so it isn't too distracting. I can simply hand her some pocket money and send her out, or let her use the library, and she's as happy as a cricket."

"But then such ease of nature might not last," another guests laughed.

"No, no, such things do not last. She is young, but she will soon grow to be as all ladies are, and woe betide the man who marries her!"

"Thank God for the dowry!" another guest exclaimed.

Aimee leaned back against the wall, hurt. And so was this the way men talked of their wives, sisters, daughters, and nieces, with such scorn and derision, all the while showing a face of kindness? And if all men were this way, then what would her husband be like? For she was certain that she was going to marry, for that was the way of things right now. Soon the talk of revolution would cease, and the king would realize that he must serve his people and all would be well again. And she, Aimee, a Creole, with a large dowry, would marry an impoverished, titled nobleman, and her family would be connected to yet another noble family. Never mind that her family was minor nobility, because they were still provincials from the colonies, indolent and frivolous.

Aimee hurried upstairs to her room as quickly as she could, and Emma sat before the fire, mending one of Aimee's silk stockings. When she saw her mistress, she rose to help Aimee out of her dress.

"Are you unwell, Mademoiselle?" she asked as she untied Aimee's stays.

Aimee glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were fever-bright and shimmered with tears, but she did not cry.

Instead, she repeated the words overheard from the conversation over and over again in her head. Not much of a burden. _Frivolous. Indolent. Such an ease of nature might not last._

She did not see herself as indolent and frivolous. Of course, there were times when she could be flighty, but then there were times when she was just as clever—or more so, said the nuns—than most girls her age. The queen was flighty sometimes, it was said, but really, she seemed a perfectly lovely woman with beautiful little children. Now Aimee considered if, were she presented at court, she would get on with the queen. And if she got on with the queen, then they could spend all day in the Petit Trianon and the little village at Versailles playing with the children and writing poems and performing plays and gathering strawberries and having picnics in the wildflower garden. And they could be as flight, frivolous, and indolent as they wished, because she was a Dubucq de Rivery and a favorite of the queen.

_Remember. Always remember. You're a Dubucq de Rivery., Your papa was a very important man._

And that was something she would always remember.

**Reviews and constructive criticism, please and thanks!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own J. M. Barrie's ****_Peter Pan_**_. _**Aimee Debucq de Rivery was a real person. All original characters are mine. ThaA nks for the follows and reviews!**

**A Thousand Oceans**

**Chapter Two**

Neverland was a cruel place to James Hook, and the dreams that plagued him when he slept—that is, when he _did_ sleep—could be crueler.

The vile boy tormented his every waking moment in the daylight and shattered whatever peaced he might have at night. No, the man did not sleep well, and if he did, it was only for a few hours at a time and usually with the aid of rum or whiskey. Still, the boy's laughter and the ticking of the clock inside that crocodile disturbed his dreams and jarred him out of sleep. Too many nights had he awakened from yet another nightmare of his defeat or death, his heart racing, his brow covered in sweat, unsure of where he was as he untangled the sheets from his legs until he realized that he was still in his cabin, alive, and that he have one more day to vanquish Pan.

But tonight's dream was much more pleasant.

He could hear girlish laughter, and he turned to see _her_ there. It was always the same girl with the same dulcet voice with the slight French accent., Now she was calling out his name as she ran to him.

"There you are, James! I have been looking everywhere for you!" She kilted her skirts and hurried across the garden, which was full of flowers—roses, crocuses,m honeysuckle, lilies. And the scent of the woman's apple blossom perfume. He registered how lovely she was, with a heart-shaped face, Cupid's bow lips, and dark blue eyes. Her golden ringlets were gathered away from her face, pinned back so that they loosely hung about her shoulders. A ribbon matching the blue sash on her white muslin dress was twined through her coiffure.

"Silly!" she laughed. "You fell asleep! The Queen was asking for you! She wants you to play and sing for her again. And here I find you asleep in her wildflower garden! Come—she's in the Petit Trianon! You must hurry before supper starts. And Madame la Duchesse de Polignac mentioned that she might dance with you tonight, but I already told her that you'd promised every dance to me!" She stood and helped him up. "Come."

He laughed and kissed her, and he whispered to her, "Wait a moment." He presented her with the perfect red rose he had been saving for her, and she smiled at him and tucked it into her hair, beneath the ribbon. Then she took his good hand and led him through the gardens to the building which lay beyond.

And when he awoke, he found himself sprawled in his bed, alone. The stump of his right arm itched again, and he scratched it. He reached for the bottle of rum again, and when he held the bottle by its neck to his lips to take another sip, he detected the faint scent of roses on his fingers.

* * *

He awakened late the following morning to the sound of Smee banging about his quarters. The bosun had brought im a breakfast of bread and cheese and a bowl of strawberries. He watched as Smee set the meal on the tabe, the sauntered to the windows to open up the curtains.

"Don't open them," he grumbled to Smee, burying his face into the crook os his elbow.

"But the sun is out and the air is balmy," Smee insisted. "Come now, Cap'n, 'tis almost noon. The men are wondering when you'll be up."

Usually, he would have been angry with Smee for disturbing him in the morning after a drinking binge, but this morning, he was too preoccupied. He allowed the bosun to pull back the curtains and chatter on about the fishing had been hood on the other side of the bay this morning. Starkey had led the effort and they had returned with a fine catch that the cook was now tending to.

He rose from his bed and went to the table to pick at the breakfast that had been lain out for him, but his stomach rebelled at the thought of any food this morning. Smee was quick to pull out a chair for him so that he could eat. Once the bread had passed his lips, he spit it out and glared at the bosun.

"This bread is stale," he grumbled. "Don't we have any fresh bread?"

"We do," Smee said, his voice beginning to quaver just a bit. "D'you want me to fetch some fresh bread?"

"You should have had fresh bread on this plate to begin with," Hook muttered, reaching for the carafe of fresh water so that he might slake his thirst. "See that you do from now on." He eyed the bosun threateningly for good measure. With an, "Aye, Cap'n," Smee scurried out of the cabin in search of fresh berad.

Once left alone, Hook buried his face in his good hand, a moan escaping from his lips.

He had not had such dreams like this past night's in years. It had been so real that he thought he'd left the Neverland and had gone on to France to spend his days in merry play at farmer with the Queen and the golden-haired French chit. And more importantly, which queen was it? For there were many queens throughout Europe, queens whose names he might not know now, and a plethora of Fae queens and royals, all of whom indulged in petty squabbles and bickered with each other, but whore swore their allegiance to the Faerie High Queen, Tanaquil Bellana. Was it this queen that the girl had spoken of? Would he still be trapped in this fairies' world , at the mercy of the Faerie Queen and with the French chit at his side? He might not be alone, but his life would not be his own, just as it wasn't now.

Smee returned in due course with a loaf of fresh bread, placing it carefully on the table before cutting it. He set a few pieces on Hook's plate, then went about his business, tsking over the empty bottle of rum at Hook's beside like a nursemaid before picking it up and setting it on the tray.

"Will you be needing anything else, Cap'n?" Smee asked him. The clattering of the dishes didn't help Hook's aching head.

"Brimstone and gall, haven't you been enough of a disturbance this morning ?" Hook demanded. "Leave me at once! I'll call for you when I have need of you!"

The bosun shuffled out of the cabin, leaving Hook alone once more. No, it certainly hadn't helped that he'd had too much to drink last night, all so that he could sleep.

Perhaps he was starting to go mad. Finally, after all this time, perhaps the magic of the island had begun to impair his mental faculties, just as it made the silly Lost Boys forget their former lives in the world beyond.

The solitary man picked at the fresh strawberries, and the idea came to him as suddenly as his melancholy had left him.

He rose and flung open the door of his cabin, squinting a bit as the bright sunlight assailed his eyes and called out to his men.

"Hoist anchor, my bullies, and ready the sails! Set course for the west, for the Isle of Elphame to see the Faerie Queen within the hour!" He ran his good hand through his dark curls. "Mr. Smee—I have need of you!"

"Of course, Cap'n," Smee replied, leaving the work he had started on deck to follow his captain's request.


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own J. M. Barrie's ****_Peter Pan. _****Aimee Dubucq de Rivery was a real person. All other original characters are mine. Thanks for the follows and reviews!**

**Author's Note: I picture Kirsten Dunst in her role in _Marie Antoinette_ as Aimee and Jason Isaacs in his role as Hook from the 2003 _Peter Pan_ film.**

**A Thousand Oceans**

**Chapter Three**

aptain James Hook had not been to the Faerie High Court on the Island of Elphame in some time, not for years. The pull of the Neverland had kept him there, more or less alone, for all that time. He was not a solitary man by nature. He believed that he would have thrived at the court instead of being at Peter Pan's beck and call, that he would have had some semblance of a normal life. But no, that blasted boy would not have it that way. So there he had stayed in the Neverland, an unwilling prisoner, much like the spellbound heroes in fairy tales, and there he would remain until Peter Pan killed him or the crocodile had succeeded in swallowing him.

But the Faerie Queen's invitations, which had been extended throughout the years, or his desire to visit the court, seemed to negate any magic the Neverland might hold over him. The ship would often be able to leave Neverland for a few days at a time and dock in the port of the Isle of Elphame. After some time, he would feel the Neverland's pull deep in his gut, and he would have to cast off and return. And what sort of existence was that? It wasn't even half of one, to be subject to the whims of the enchantments that lie on that island and the boy who controlled them.

He had a bath and a shave before the ship docked in the Elphame court, and he had Smee pull every bit of clothing out of his trunks and clothespresses before he finally decided on an ensemble. If he was to go to court, he reasoned, then he must look the part. He had always cut a dashing figure when he had appeared at the Faerie Queen's court, and his elegant, if not concerted and flamboyant, choices in clothing made an impression during each of his visits. He intended on doing the same during this visit. No doubt the members of the High court would be talking of this appearance of his for years to come.

The day passed quickly, and bu the next morning the isle of Elphame was in sight, an emerald in the middle of a sapphire sea. The city, which encompassed most of the island, was built entirely of white stone that seemed to gleam in the sun. The palace of the Faerie Queen stood on the top of the hill on which the city had been built, and the towers rose up proudly from it like a crown, signaling to all that this was the center of Faerie, that this was where the High Queen resided and where all would come to seek favors from her. She was the High Queen of the Otherworld, the one to whom all the petty kings and queens bowed, the one who could intercede on anyone's behalf and render any spell or enchantment null and void. Even the enchantments of the Neverland were hers to dispel if she wished, though Tanaquil Bellana did not often occupy herself with them.

Hook dressed carefully, in breeches of dark blue, a jacket in the hue of a lighter blue accented with silver stitching, and his finest cavalier boots. His hat was of the same color as his breeches, and a the white plume added a rakish touch. The blues only brought out the blue of his eyes and were striking against the fairness of his skin and the darkness of his hair. Smee and Cecco, who had washed and were dressed in their best clothing, were to accompany him to the Faerie Court.

Hook sent for an open-air carriage to take them to the Faerie Queen's palace, and he felt a little thrill at being able to travel in high style again. He was able to see all of manner of persons who wandered throughout the Faerie city. Here was a human with Fae blood, there a goblin, there an elf, there a selkie clad in a gown of sheer Faerie gossamer with her sealskin being worn as a cloak. And there were the sounds of so many languages spoken that the city seemed to be a veritable tower of Babel.

He finally came to the Faerie Queen's palace, which was built of the same sparkling white stone as the other buildings in the city, bit was far more regal. The Queen;s guards seemed surprised to see him again, as did the stable boys who tended to the horses, and Hook felt the same thrill as he had once felt when he had been the terror of the Spanish Main.

When he finally reached the Queen's formal hall, Hook spoke to an attendant, who scurried away to inform the Queen of his arrival. As he passed the thorngs of people engaged in conversations and flirtations, he noticed that they stopped to watch him.

And then the Queen was announced.

Hook bowed as he had been taught to her for nobles and royals as a child. He heard the swishing of petticoats and a clicking of slippers as she swept past him. Once the queen was situated on her throne, the gesture was given for the courtiers to stand.

It was a long process, this endless line of people seeking audience with the High Queen, but it was part of her duty. The Queen asked her page to read the names of the petitioners and visitors, which he did in a clear tone. The Queen would hear each petitioner's case and rendered her verdict. When the name of Captain James Hook was read, there was almost a collective gasp in the room.

Tanaquil Bellana bade James Hook to rise.

* * *

Hook was granted a private audience with the Queen, and she'd had the table in her presence chamber set with all sorts of collations, from oranges to grapes to olives and bread and cheese. There was a pint of what he discovered to be muscat at the ready for him. The Queen herself didn't partake of it; instead, she had some apple-scented wine poured into a glass for her. She took a sip from the glass and closed her eyes for a moment as she savored the taste, and then she swallowed and opened her eyes again.

"This wine was made from the apples from the trees planted in my orchard," she said, indicating the goblet in her hand. "Do you know the source of these apple trees, Captain?"

Here he decided to tread carefully. "I'm afraid I do not, my lady," he said silkily, and here the Queen smiled. She was no fool, just as he was no fool, and he must be careful not to let his guard down.

"They are from the seeds of one of the apples of the Hesperides. They produce a very sweet wine, one that I'm sure you'd like to sample some time," she went on. "The oranges, the olives, and the grapes are from my own trees and vines on the palace grounds, and the cheese was made in my own dairy." She watched him as he reached across the table for some olives and and an orange slice. Though something in the back of his mind told him that he shouldn't eat or drink anything in Faerie if he didn't wish to remain there forever, he partook of the food anyhow. He was already a captive of sorts, so surely he had only committed himself again in this foul land.

"We have amusements," she said. "Masques, feasts, and balls—they would rival anything you may have known in the human world."

He chuckled. "I have yet to see what such amusements are," he replied. "Pray tell me, why have you sought an audience with me, madam? And why do you simply recount to me the wonders of your palace?"

She leaned back in her chair, a smile playing on her lips. "Dearest Captain!" she said. "I should have known how perceptive you would be! Perhaps wooing you is going to be more difficult than I imagined."

"Wooing?" he echoed, his brow furrowing. What did this mean? Was the Faerie Queen really seeking him out as a consort? He had read tales of this, of Faerie women taking mortal husbands and watching carelessly as their consorts' immortality faded away, He reached for his sword when he laughed.

"Why, no, sir!" she said. "I didn't mean as a consort! Do hear me out, and so consider it before you draw your sword in anger."

"Is this why I have been called into your private audience chamber, madam, so that I might be made a fool of for your amusement?" he said, sitting down once again. "Tell me when you are done, then, so that I might take my leave!"

"No one intends to make a fool of you," she assured him, lifting a piece of bread topped with cheese to her mouth. He waited as she chewed slowly and watched her as she swallowed. She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. "Indeed, I have a proposal for you, one that you might find to be to your liking."

A proposition. So the Queen was intent on doing business with him, was that it? And he wondered what it was that she needed. Was he to be a privateer for her, just as he had done during Queen Anne's War? Or perhaps he would be asked to lead the Queen's army or navy during a war or take the _Jolly Roger_ to sea on expedition. The possibilities were endless, and he knew what such things would mean for him: respect, prestige, and perhaps an ally in a quest to obilterate Peter Pan once and for all.

"I am sure," the Queen said, "that you have wished to be free of the Neverland's hold upon you."

He raised an eyebrow. "The Neverland has no hold upon me. The only thing that might have a hold on me is my desire to plunge my hook into Peter Pan's heart."

The Faerie Queen made a face at this. "You pretend, sir," she accused. "You and I both know very well that the magic of the Neverland has taken hold of you and that you are just as subject to Peter Pan's whims as anyone who has been there for far too long. Peter and the Neverland are bound together, and your fate is left to whatever it is the boy wishes."

He stared darkly into his goblet of muscat as she spoke. At length, she added pointedly, "You are as much of a pretender as the Pan boy."

Perhaps the Faerie Queen knew which words to use, or perhaps this was the truth and he didn't see it. Whatever it might be, James Hook didn't care. His heart was heavy with the disappointment of the wasted years in the Neverland. His pride was scarred with the humiliation of defeat after defeat in his vendetta. And moreover, he was physically scarred himself. Had the boy not only cost him his hand, bit everything?

_Everything._

"Brimstone and gall," he murmured, "have I come all the way to your court to be insulted? Is this the newest amusement in the Faerie Court?"

The Queen shook her head. "You could be freed from that magic, freed from the boy's whims," she said quietly.

He nearly dropped his goblet of muscat when he heard this. Were his ears deceiving him? Was the Faerie Queen offering him a way to leave the Neverland after he had defeated Pan?" With his good hand, he gripped the arm of the chair he was seated in, and very evenly he asked, "How would you go about this, and what price would I have to pay?"

"A price?' she repeated. "You want to know what price you would have to pay? Captain, what I am offering comes not with a price, but with a boon."

"A boon?" You would help me to sail from the Neverland and break the hold it has on me, and then offer me another boon?" he scoffed. "How pretty you make it sound, my Queen. First you would grant me a favor, and then offer me something which sounds tantalizing, but you have worded it in such a way that it sounds as though you ae granting me another favor. But this is false and to believe you would be mad. There is always a price be paid or a favor to be returned when a boon is suddenly and unexpectedly granted!"

"But you don't know what I offer," the Queen pointed out.

"And what is it you offer?" he asked, lifting his right arm to ostensibly examine the sharp point of his hook.

"I offer you a position in my Court. You would serve me for ten years, and after that, you and your men would be free to sail wherever you wished."

He frowned, his eyes narrowing. "You would have me exchange one prison for another. That is no boon; that is a deal only a fool would agree to."

The Queen's lips twitched with suppressed laughter. "And is it any better to remain a prisoner of the Neverland and to be stranded there forever? Do you enjoy your long days and lonely nights in a bed that seems much too big just for one? Or would you rather serve the Faerie Court, and perhaps make a name for yourself and earn your fortune, and marry and have a family of your own? For while I have foreseen your death in the jaws of that crocodile you might still exchange that fate for the other."

His death in the jaws of the crocodile. The words stung, as though someone had taken a dagger and stabbed him through the heart. He had heard jeers about such a fate, not only in his waking hours, but in his dreams, even when he dreamed of the woman in the garden, the woman who seemed to love him despite his faults. But she was only a dream, and the Neverland was not kind enough to grant some of his deepest, most heartfelt desires.

"And in what capacity would I serve you?" he asked her.

"In whatever capacity you would see fit," she replied. "You would be at my beck and call."

"And the bound you would grant me?"

She blinked, her fathomless dark eyes twinkling. "There is a way your curse might be broken."

"And how, madam?"

"If you were to find one person who loved you enough to shed tears after you meet your death in the Neverland," she said, "then you would be free."

He sprang up from his chair, his heartbeat quickening. "Do you mean…?"

"That has always been part of your curse. A pity you never knew of it. But nothing can be done now." The Queen turned away and started out the window. "It was a little something I added. I thought you might come to the conclusion on your own. Alas." She shrugged, turning to look at him again.

"That is all you might say?" Hook demanded, clenching his fist. "You, who have made a game of my life just as the boy has?"

"I have not made a game of your life, Captain. I have seen fit to save it!" the Queen shot back. "Finish your muscat, and have some wine while I tell you more."

He sat down in the chair again, his blood boiling in his veins and his eyes flashing red as they would before he would kill a man. He drained his muscat and picked up his newly filled goblet of wine.

"If the person who remembers you should wish for you to seek her out, you will know when she is thinking of you, and whether or not she would wish for you to find her." She removed a diamond cluster ring from her finger and approached his side so that she might give it to him. He took it from her, and and his fingers closed around it, he could feel the magic pulsing from it.

"You would see me free and happy," he said. "What stake do you have in this?"

"The Neverland's magic must be contained every now and again. The boy believes himself to be a king and that the land is his when he only acts as a conduit of its magic. Undoing the spell or curse the boy has put upon you helps to bind the magic…this time."

"And once I am free of that curse, and serving you, what will you have me do?" he asked her.

She smiled at him. "Why, my dear, Captain, in the past you sailed the seas and were the terror of the Spanish Main! I would have you sail the Faerie Seas and act in my name. After ten years, you would be free to wander or settle wherever you wish."

"I would once again be master of my own fate—after all this time?"

"You would."

Hook grinned, extending his claw. "Then I do believe, my Queen," he said, "that we have an accord."

The Queen grasped the curve of his hook as a sign of her agreement, a triumphant smile playing on her lips.

**Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome and appreciated! Thanks in advance!**


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